Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 124(@200wpm)___ 99(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
I eye the zipline check-in area. It isn’t busy, and I recognize most of the people hanging around. A woman with a clipboard spots West and waves us over.
“Mr. Hayes! We’re glad you can join us.” Her smile is professional, but her eyes dart between us, noticing our joined hands. I’m sure she’s not the only one. How had it slipped my mind that I’m holding the CEO’s hand in front of everyone? “I have you down for a solo tour. But I can add your…” Her brows rise. “Friend?”
“Yes,” West says, keeping his hold on my hand firm. “Bellarose Fontaine. She’s with me.”
With me. That sounds extra personal. It makes warmth bloom through my chest and down to other areas. It’s like I belong to him.
The woman checks a few things on her clipboard with a pen. “All right, we’re good for you two to begin. We’ll get you both harnessed up, then you’ll start at platform one.”
Platform one? How many platforms are there? I don’t have time to think about it before we’re being led to the equipment area. Fifteen minutes later, I’m strapped into a harness that digs into my thighs, making me feel like a plushie at Build-A-Bear that’s gotten too much stuffing.
West, however, doesn’t look ridiculous at all. In fact, he looks like he could be the one instructing the course. He could model for a photoshoot advertising the place. They’d be booked out solid for eternity.
“You’re sure this is safe?” I whisper as we follow our guide toward the first platform. She must overhear me because she answers my question.
“Statistically, you’re more likely to be injured by a vending machine,” she tells us, then pauses. “Shit, that probably doesn’t help.”
West is giving her a hard glare, but it is kind of funny.
“Well, that’s great. I thought the only thing to fear from a vending machine was generic fruit snacks and flavorless pretzels.”
I peek over at West, and my face must give away what I’m feeling on the inside even though I’m teasing.
West stops walking and turns to face me, his expression serious. “We can go back, get these ridiculous harnesses off, and find that candle-making class. I don’t care about a zipline. I care about you not being miserable. I want this to be fun.”
The sincerity in his voice relaxes me. He means exactly what he’s saying. West would do the walk of shame with me back to the stand to have the gear removed. Even with everyone knowing we chickened out.
“I want to do it,” I say. “With you.”
Something flickers in his expression. Relief, or maybe something like affection.
“Together?” he asks, and I nod.
“Together,” I agree.
“Then when we’re done I’ll find you Gushers and Cheez-Its.”
“I’m down with that.”
We climb the stairs together up to the first platform. The higher we go, the more my legs turn into jelly. West stays beside me, matching my pace, never rushing.
“You know, I don’t trust stairs. They’re always up to something.”
“What?” I snort a laugh.
“Just saying.” He shrugs. “But I have a confession.”
Oh shit. That’s never good. “What?”
“I’m not actually afraid of heights.”
“Seriously?!”
He gives me a sheepish expression. “I’m afraid of the sudden stop at the bottom.”
“Oh my god,” I laugh. “Have you been hanging out with my dad?”
I have to admit, West’s dad jokes are pretty good.
“Whatever works.” He motions to the platform, and I realize we made it to the top. I hadn’t noticed because I was too busy wrapped up in West’s silly jokes. He’s good, too good.
West steps closer, his gaze dropping to my harness. He reaches out, fingers brushing the straps at my shoulders, then following them down to where they clip at my waist. His touch is methodical, thorough, and sends a completely inappropriate thrill through my body.
“These look tight enough,” he mutters. He tugs at a strap near my hip, testing the give, then frowns. “Actually, let’s do another thorough check—”
“I can do that,” the platform guide Jake says, stepping forward. He’s maybe in his mid-twenties with sun-bleached hair.
Jake reaches for my harness, fingers hooking into the straps at my chest to check the tension. West’s expression shifts so fast I almost miss it. His shoulders go rigid, and his jaw tightens. When Jake moves to adjust the thigh straps, West clears his throat, and it’s a deliberate sound.
“That’s enough,” West says, and his voice has dropped deeper. It carries an edge I hadn’t heard before.
Jake pauses with his hands hovering next to my hips. His eyes go wide as he looks between us. “I thought you wanted me to…”
“I got it.” West steps between us, blocking Jake from my line of sight.
The next thing I know, West is checking the same straps and clips, but his movements are precise and possessive. “She’s good.”
Jake raises his eyebrows, looking between us. “Okay then. Now all I have to do is clip you both to the line.”